


To Lose, To Find, To Keep

by StarchildOfParis



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, But if I want characters to talk it out I must write the talking, Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Family, Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 04, The Turner boys process their feelings, Which was tricky, past loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarchildOfParis/pseuds/StarchildOfParis
Summary: Patrick Turner had felt this terror three times before. Now, he felt again it as he turned the corner to smoke pouring out of the maternity home.*The fear of a loved one in danger, magnified by past loss, and how the Turners (mostly Patrick) deal with a day I thought must have been quite scary.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner, Patrick Turner & Timothy Turner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	To Lose, To Find, To Keep

Patrick Turner had felt this terror three times before. The first time, after Marianne had collapsed in the kitchen, and several hours and a diagnosis later he’d had to begin reckoning with a future without her. The second, when Shelagh, then still Sister Bernadette, still out of his reach, had been diagnosed with tuberculosis, and he realized precisely how important she was to him and how he might never get to tell her. The third time, when he had sprinted down the hospital hallway, not knowing if he’d find Timothy paralyzed, unconscious, unable to breathe.

Now, he felt it again as he turned the corner to smoke pouring out of the maternity home. 

There had been other fear in Patrick’s life, of course. The concern he felt for each of his patients in Poplar. His worries for Timothy after his mother had died, for his own abilities as a single father. The uncompromising urgency of medical tents on the front, where the looming threat of failure motivated him even as he tried and tried to save shattered lives until his strength gave out. Even the fear of his own brain, trapping him among the bombs and the blood where it felt like he could never escape.

But the fear he was now feeling for the fourth time, this feeling as though his abdomen had gone hollow, as though his brain had turned to scrambled static—this was different. His career was built on solving problems, but the fear of a loved one ill, injured, beyond his ability to help… that was a feeling no experience could ready him for, no duty could numb him to. 

As Patrick ran towards the maternity home, that mental static erupted into fragments of thought. Smoke. No visible flames. Mothers. Babies. All of them? Coughing. Women coughing. Smoke inhalation… lung damage. TB. She’d long recovered but what if, _what if_ it made it worse—

Sister Evangelina—

“Is anyone hurt? Where’s Shelagh?”

The questions burst from him. He had no room left for concern over the two babies the Sister was holding, the cough she herself had, as she answered him—Shelagh had ushered everyone else out, she’d stayed in longest, oh of course, of course she had but was she _out_ —

A flash of blue from the doorway. Head up. 

_Shelagh._ Did he think it, whisper it, shout it—he didn’t care.

Uniform smudged with smoke. But now smiling. He wanted to hold her. They were still on the street. He was shaking. Breathe, Turner, breathe. 

Breathing. She was breathing. She was fine. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She reached out a hand and he squeezed it briefly, the pressure of her grip and each inhale he took easing that feeling of emptiness, settling his scattered thoughts. 

But they were still outside, surrounded by frightened patients. She was their nurse, needed to tend to them. He was the doctor who was meant to be on his rounds.

A few more seconds. Three, two, one. 

“I’m glad you’re all right. I’m glad everyone is out. Now go help.”

He turned and called to the mothers, urging them towards Nonnatus to be checked over.

Shelagh was off, arm quickly around a panting expectant mother and ushering the group down the street.

Patrick, however, hung back a moment, glancing at the maternity home. He was surprised to feel panic spiking again, and tamped it down. _It’s been all of thirty seconds, of course you’re still shocked,_ he thought. _But we can fix the building, and no one’s in danger anymore._

As the bells of the fire brigade roused him to jog after the others, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling his fear couldn’t be extinguished as easily as the flames.

* * *

Checking over the patients at Nonnatus had already forced Patrick to alter his afternoon schedule, so he told himself it was perfectly reasonable to arrange a locum for the evening and call into Sister Julienne’s office, letting her know that Dr. Douglas would be on call the rest of the day.

“Nothing is wrong,” he assured her. “But my rounds were shifted about and I’ve got to start planning repairs for the maternity home and… well.” He steeled himself, feeling faintly ridiculous for expecting to be judged by Sister Julienne, of all people. "Today was, I suppose, rather… frightening. I think my family is best off together tonight.”

“Of course, Doctor.” A short pause. “Love is the enemy of fear and loss. You know that as well as anyone. Do not feel guilty for valuing it.”

In the fifteen years he’d known her, Sister Julienne had never failed to get to the heart of a matter.

“Thank you, Sister. Good afternoon.”

He went to fetch Timothy from the schoolyard next, hoping to head off East End gossip with reassurance.

“Have we got somewhere to go, Dad?”

“No, Tim. I’m just off the rest of the day, thought I’d walk you home.”

Timothy shrugged and turned down the street, but stilled at Patrick’s tone when he added, “and I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Something bad?”

“Everyone is just fine. But there was a fire at the maternity home today.”

“There—was Mum—?”

“Yes, she was there, but I saw her and everyone else off to Nonnatus. No one the worse for it but for a bit of coughing. I just wanted to let you know before you heard rumors from anyone else.”

“Is she at home?”

“Soon. Still working now. But once we’re back, I’m going to pick up Angela, and then soon as you know it Mum will be there, and we can have the evening as a family.”

“You’re sure everyone’s all right?” Tim pressed.

“Of course.”

“You just seem… worried.”

This boy of his was too perceptive for his own good. “Well,” Patrick sighed. “Yes, I suppose I still am, a bit. Not because I think anything’s wrong. But…” He wasn’t quite sure how to explain what he meant. “Remember how Mum was worried about you going out to play when you were first recovering? You were fine, but she was still a bit scared. If you think someone you care about might be hurt, of course you’ll feel that way, and that’s fine.”

Timothy was quiet for a moment.

“You promise she’ll be home soon?”

“I promise.”

“Then I’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad.” Patrick smiled at his son.

Tim smiled back, and started pelting down the road, calling, “But I get to hug her first, and not too much mushy stuff out of you!”

* * *

Patrick closed Timothy’s door and headed back down the hall. When Shelagh had gotten home, Tim had, true to his word, given her a big hug and seemed just fine the rest of the evening. Still, it didn’t hurt to check that he was actually sleeping soundly. Passing his and Shelagh’s room, Patrick heard the quiet snuffles of a sleeping Angela, and as he approached the kitchen, he heard the water running as his wife finished up the dishes.

He came up behind her just as she shut off the tap, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Alone at last,” she said.

He hummed noncommittally and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I expect you’re rather tired. Would you like to go to bed?”

Shelagh looked at him with a disbelieving smile. “We’ve both had longer days than this. You don’t need to coddle me.”

“Forgive me if I thought escaping a burning building might have made for a stressful day,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.

Shelagh twisted to face him, eyes widening.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “That wasn’t fair. I suppose it really made for a stressful day for me.”

“You saw the maternity home, Patrick. There wasn’t much damage, and you saw me and everyone else out just fine.”

“But when I got there… Let’s just say one’s first thought after realizing there’s a fire is not usually, ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s a small one.’”

Shelagh took his hand and led him to the living room, sitting them both on the couch. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve noticed you were more worried this evening than you were letting on.”

“I’m ashamed to admit I’ve been listening for any coughing out of you since you got home.” Patrick smiled wryly.

“You know my lungs have recovered.”

“And you know just how much help the medical facts were when Tim was ill. Clinical perspective rather goes out the window when your family is on the other end of it.”

Shelagh settled against his side, sliding an arm behind his back. “I know. I just wish you didn’t have to worry so.”

“I suspect I always will.” Patrick looked down at his shoes. “Especially where my wife is concerned.”

He heard her suck in a breath as she realized what was truly bothering him, beyond smoke inhalation or displaced patients. “Oh, Patrick. You didn’t lose me and you’re not going to. Besides, you’d have done the same if you were there. What needed to be done.”

He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “I know. A bit hypocritical of me, I suppose. And it’s certainly not the only risk either of us has ever taken. But I was surprised just how… panicked I was today, and I can’t pretend my history didn’t worsen the scare.”

“I wouldn’t want you to pretend otherwise,” Shelagh replied, “and I’m certainly glad you’re willing to mention it.” After a moment, she added, “Was Timothy scared, too?”

“He seemed all right. I managed to tell him about the fire before he heard from anyone else, and he told me himself that once he saw you at home, he thought he’d feel fine.”

“Good. I’m sure it helped to hear it from you. He’s been through enough already as well,” Shelagh said.

Patrick noticed her glancing towards the hall, however, and squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve already checked on him, and he’s fast asleep. He’s resilient, that one, and I’m sure it didn’t hurt that he hasn’t decided he’s too old to hug his mum.”

Shelagh smiled, a bit sadly. “I hope he never does.”

“He loves you too much to ever really mind,” Patrick said. “I’m sure of it.”

“As much as I love him. And you, Patrick. I truly am sorry I worried you so much today.”

“Nonsense, Shelagh. It’s not as though you started the fire.” They both chuckled. “And as you so capably reminded me, the maternity home, everyone else, and you are all just fine now, so let’s be glad for it.”

“Yes. Let’s.” Shelagh leaned forward and kissed him gently. When she pulled back, Patrick noticed the glint in her eye. “Now, you said something about going to bed?”

Patrick laughed again, stood up, and reached out a hand to pull his wife to her feet. Fear be damned. He had his family.

**Author's Note:**

> I plunged headfirst into Call the Midwife during quarantine after meaning to watch it for years, and have finally watched all that's on Netflix (up through season 8 in the US). So now's the time to write Turnadette fics! There are so many moments with them floating around in my head that I want to write about - we'll see how much I actually manage to get out there.
> 
> I understand they had to get moving after the fire for the sake of professionalism. But with the Turner family's history, I felt like there must have been some emotional fallout over an occasion where Shelagh could've been hurt, especially because fires are terrifying. So I wrote it. Plus, I needed someone to tell Timothy.
> 
> Feedback, comments, and kudos absolutely always welcome!
> 
> I do not own Call the Midwife or anything related to it.


End file.
